


Our Little Vignette

by Ultirex



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24282832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultirex/pseuds/Ultirex
Summary: Drift believed in Rodimus long before he placed his faith in the power of prophecy. It all started in an alleyway in Nyon.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod, Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, past Deadlock/Starscream
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Our Little Vignette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nifty_drifty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nifty_drifty/gifts).



> For Rho, who gave me an excuse to write Driftrod pining. 
> 
> Some bits of canon have been a little fudged for the sake of convenience.

“He was certainly decisive with his actions,” Megatron remarked as he sidestepped around some exposed wiring. It still crackled with electricity as it swayed overhead, where the integrity of the remaining scaffolding was just enough to pose a threat. “There’s something to be respected about that.”

Deadlock kicked along a charred piece of debris. It tumbled across the floor before disappearing among the many piles that remained in the aftermath of the carnage. 

Megatron sighed. “It shouldn’t have come to this in the first place. Take it in, Deadlock. This is what the Senate has reduced us to. They sit in their gilded towers and watch as we’re forced to kill our own so they can at least die with some dignity.”

“What was Nyon like?” Deadlock asked as they trudged through the rubble and corpses that were now covered with a fine layer of ash. Particles were still raining down from the sky, looking eerily beautiful against the blazing backdrop of the sunset. 

“I hadn’t seen it much myself,” Megatron admitted. They passed by a wall that was still partially intact, by some miracle. The outline of a civilian that had been caught in the blast of a plasma charge was permanently etched into it, and it was somehow more gruesome than the bits of armor and scattered limbs that littered the streets. “My opportunities for travel were limited. Most miners spent their lives assigned to a single territory - two, if you were lucky, but even then the majority of our time was spent beneath the surface. The isolation was part of what made Maccadam’s such an invaluable source of information about the outside world.”

Deadlock didn’t respond. His mouth suddenly felt dry, his palate longing for the taste of a drink he’d only ever been able to fantasize about. 

“I’d heard plenty of stories, however,” Megatron continued. He stepped over a fallen sign that had become illegible long ago, its original intent buried beneath layers of graffiti and obscenities that had been scratched into its surface. “Allegedly, it had once been a thriving city. When it fell into ruin after centuries of neglect and the people rightfully rebelled, the government had the gall to play the victim.”

“And so they destroyed it,” Deadlock concluded. “Them and whoever pulled the trigger on it all. Is that why you brought me here? All for one little recruit?”

Megatron’s lip curled into a rare smile at Deadlock’s expense. “You feel threatened.”

Deadlock quickened his pace, refusing to look back at his leader’s smug expression. “I just don’t see the point. He already turned down Starscream-“

“Starscream was a mistake,” Megatron said bluntly. Deadlock had to agree with him there, no matter the context. “I should have taken matters into my own hands from the beginning, frankly. I had too much faith.”

“But why am _I_ here?” Deadlock turned around on his heel to square up against his much larger and more imposing commander. It was either willpower or stupidity that kept Deadlock from being intimidated. “You want me to babysit him if he accepts? Kill him if he refuses?”

There was tension in Megatron’s jaw, but he’d been known to have an exceptional amount of patience when it came to dealing with Deadlock. “I thought you might be able to empathize with him. His situation isn’t entirely different from your own. Everything around you is proof of that.”

A rodent-like creature skirted along the debris near their feet. It collected what looked to be a severed finger before skittering off and disappearing in the gutter. 

_Just like home,_ Deadlock thought sardonically. 

“Check in that direction,” Megatron said, nodding towards what had once been a sprawling urban district. “I’ll search the Rust Narrows. If you see him you persuade him by any means. He’s too valuable to let the Autobots get their hands on him.”

“Yes sir,” Deadlock drawled with a mockery of a salute. 

Megatron didn’t comment on the disrespectful display before disappearing down the tracks. 

Nyon was eerily quiet as Deadlock made his way through the remnants of it. Zeta Prime’s attack had devastated the populace, while the rebel’s bombs had wiped out what remained. Even the Dead End had been lively, in its own twisted way. Distant gunshots and the pained howls of maimed turbofoxes had characterized the miserable ecosystem of the slums. 

He wondered if there even had been any survivors, or if Megatron was simply being guided by some misplaced optimism. It felt increasingly unlike he’d find anyone, let alone the renegade that had caught Megatron’s attention, as he made his way through the ruins of the city.

There was the crunch of footsteps over gravel. Deadlock’s hand was immediately ready to draw the gun that was holstered at his side, but he refrained from doing so right away. Presenting himself as a threat would likely just scare off whoever was tailing him, and as much as he wanted to he couldn’t sabotage his one chance at talking to - what was his name again?

Deadlock hadn’t paid much attention to that part of the mission brief. All he knew was that their target had a bold appearance to match the gravity of his actions, his frame painted with vibrant reds and yellows that would make him an oddity among the largely muted color palette of the Decepticons.

It was a look that turned heads, Deadlock would give him that. 

He must have been approaching the outer rim of a blast radius. He could still make out the outlines of the two buildings he squeezed between, and the alleyway he lured his unsuspecting stalker into was just dilapidated enough to remind him of his slum in Rodion. 

Deadlock paused. The footsteps followed a moment afterwards. Amateur. 

The alley was narrow. He’d have to move decisively if he wanted to pull this off. 

It happened quickly. His assailant broke out into a run, likely hoping to just get a quick hit in now that it was clear they didn’t have the advantage of surprise. Deadlock waited, his hand poised and ready at his side, until the last moment. 

Deadlock whirled around and tripped the mech with a sweep of his leg. Before he had a chance to recover Deadlock picked him up by the throat and pressed him up against the wall. Deadlock managed to do so with a single hand, and he was taken aback by just how _small_ their target was. 

Because there was no mistaking that this was who he’d been sent to find. The mech’s small stature was compensated for by the loudness of his colors, and they only looked even more stunning against the decaying backdrop of the dead city. 

“Thought you’d be bigger,” Deadlock said gruffly. He could feel the mech’s throat cables contract beneath his hand. His thumb was pressed up against a major energon line, and he could feel the elevated pulse of it. 

Primus. Deadlock quite literally held this mech’s life in the palm of his hand, but he wasn’t offered any pleas for mercy or bargaining chips in a fit of desperation. The mech simply held his gaze, perhaps waiting to see if he’d pull out his gun or just keep toying with him like this for a while longer. 

There was fire in that expression. The heat of it kindled something in Deadlock’s core. 

“Well?” Deadlock prompted. His gun remained at his side. “Your plan to get the jump on me failed spectacularly. So are you going to come quietly, or am I going to have to persuade you?”

No response. Deadlock was starting to wonder if this mech was mute. Such a thing hadn’t been uncommon in the Dead End, where many pawned their vocoders off to afford fuel or had it fall into disrepair from a lack of maintenance. 

Deadlock had almost lost his own, before Ratchet had salvaged it. He found himself regarding his captive with a sympathy that didn’t lend itself towards intimidation. 

And unintimidated this mech was. He tilted his head back as much as he could, and it was the only warning Deadlock got before his optics were assaulted by a glob of spit. 

His grip loosened. His captive immediately took advantage and broke free, then charged off down the alleyway at a sprint.

“For the last time, piss off!” the mech hollered over his shoulder. He stopped for a moment - stupidly - to make a rude gesture before transforming and driving off, leaving Deadlock in a plume of dust. 

Deadlock wiped the spit from his optics with a scowl. Not mute after all.

**______________________________**

“I heard you failed your special assignment.” 

Deadlock opted to ignore Starscream’s provocation. He lined up his shot before firing a series of rounds into the training drone, swearing under his breath when they failed to land between its crudely constructed optics.

Starscream, looking far too pleased with himself, took that as a cue to keep going. “Cheer up, Deadlock. You’ll have opportunities to redeem yourself. Primus knows Megatron gives you plenty.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Deadlock muttered. His next shot grazed the side of the drone’s head. His grip tightened on his pistol until his knuckles started to ache in protest. “Brat shot you down first, remember? Guess it’s hard to keep track of your failures when you make a habit of ‘em.”

“That was Megatron’s fault, actually,” Starscream said, surprisingly calm after what Deadlock had thought would be a staggering blow to his pride. “Not that the old fool will ever admit it. He came on too strong, played his cards too quickly. Hot Rod is...delicate. He needs to be handled as such.”

“Hot Rod,” Deadlock repeated. So that was his name. 

“Courting someone to the cause isn’t always as simple as playing up their anger at the system, or handing them a gun and permission to shoot the bastards responsible for it,” Starscream continued, as if Deadlock had asked for the lecture. He propped himself up on a nearby crate of ammunition and made himself comfortable. “You have to convince them that we’re fighting for the same thing, or at the very least that our end goal is the same even if our ideals aren’t. Someone as impressionable as Hot Rod needs a gentle hand to guide him along.”

“Thanks. I didn’t ask.”

Deadlock tried to fire off another round. His pistol jammed instead, and after a few desperate clicks he tossed the weapon aside with a snarl.

The training drone watched him with its blank stare, still very much intact despite his best efforts. 

Starscream laughed. Deadlock had always found it to be an ugly sound, as unpleasant as anything that came from those venomous lips. 

“Testy, aren’t we. You really can’t handle not getting your way.” Starscream crossed his legs. He looked infuriatingly poised as he looked down his nose at Deadlock from his perch. “That’s the danger of being Megatron’s pet. He coddles you too much.”

“Piss off, Starscream,” Deadlock barked. He only registered what he’d said when Starscream raised a brow at his word choice. 

“Eloquent as always,” Starscream said. He stood, but instead of leaving and giving Deadlock a moment of peace he paused to size up the training drone. 

Starscream pulled out one of the swords that kept sheathed against his back. He sliced cleanly through the drone in a fluid motion, wielding the sword as if it were merely an extension of his body. 

There was something beautiful about it. He was truly a study in contrasts.

Starscream leaned in close. His hand that wasn't wielding his sword flirted with Deadlock’s hip plating. 

Deadlock could still recall the sensation of having those talons tease the delicate wiring underneath his armor as his charge built towards a forceful overload.

“Our latest intelligence shows that he went crawling to the Autobots after all,” Starscream murmured in Deadlock’s audial. “Kill Hot Rod on the battlefield and I’m sure all will be forgiven.”

Starscream walked away before Deadlock could respond. Deadlock found himself staring at those hips as he did. Starscream must have known, given the way that he let them swing just so with each step.

Bastard. Deadlock picked up his jammed gun, feeling no less frustrated than he had since he’d entered the training room. 

The door opened just as Starscream was leaving. He narrowly avoided colliding face first with Megatron’s chest and managed to - miraculously - avoid letting out a slew of curse words to express his displeasure. 

“My lord,” he said instead. The bow he gave was a half-assed one. 

Megatron simply brushes him aside without any of their usual antagonistic theatrics. “Soundwave needs you. I'd suggest you don’t keep him waiting.”

Starscream’s ailerons flared but he was surprisingly obedient otherwise. He left without another word. 

“You seem agitated,” Megatron remarked as he strode towards Deadlock. His presence was domineering as always, and suddenly the spacious training room felt oppressive and small. 

It was unusual to feel uncomfortable around Megatron. Deadlock wondered how much longer he had before those good graces he relied on slipped through his fingers as easily as Hot Rod had. 

Hot Rod again. Deadlock grimaced when his thoughts once again found their way back to the little street rat that had bested him with _spit_ , of all things. 

The sky in Nyon had been a diluted shade of orange, the sun’s brilliance weathered by thick blankets of smoke and ash that made the air a chore to filter. Hot Rod, however, had not been blasted into submission the same way his home had. He was a visual marvel among the death and decay, defiant in every aspect.

“Don’t know what gave it away,” Deadlock muttered. He fiddled with his gun, finding the busted equipment preferable to Megatron’s judgment. 

Starscream’s snide comments were easy to brush off. It was different when criticism came from someone he respected. 

Megatron’s expression was unreadable as he considered the drone that Starscream had effectively trashed. Deadlock wished he could take credit for that, instead of the singed pockmarks on the wall around it. 

“You didn’t tell me what happened,” Megatron said. His fusion cannon hummed at his side. “You just pouted the entire way back to base.”

“I don’t pout,” Deadlock retorted. He knew his petulance would only prove Megatron’s point. 

“Whatever Hot Rod did certainly got under your plating,” Megatron said dryly. “I’d suggest you take that anger and turn it into something productive. Otherwise you’d be better off just letting it go.” 

“He doesn’t matter,” Deadlock muttered. 

He was prepared to chuck his defective pistol out the nearest airlock - _like a child throwing a tantrum_ , chimed the voice in his head that sounded annoyingly like Starscream - when Megatron held his hand out like a disapproving parent. 

“On the contrary,” Megatron said. He took the pistol and managed to fix it with a few quick motions that could have been witchcraft, for all Deadlock knew. “I get the feeling he’ll be a bigger problem than anyone is anticipating. There’s something about him.”

“Like?” Deadlock pressed. He looked away in a poor attempt to conceal his wounded pride. 

Megatron chuckled, as if the Autobots’ latest asset was something to be amused by. “He managed to best you - rather easily, it seems. But above all, you’ve seen what he’s willing to sacrifice for what he believes in. A shame. That quality would have served him well as a Decepticon.”

He didn’t offer the pistol back immediately. Instead, he aimed it between the wounded drone’s optics and fired a shot that was as clean and efficient as it was brutal. The drone let out a final wail that was laced with static, and sparks crackled from its exposed wires even as its optics went dim. 

“Hm.” Megatron kicked the scrapped drone aside. It clunked pitifully against the ammunition crate. “A poor substitute for the real thing. Shockwave will have to put something better together before the troops get restless.”

Megatron offered the pistol back. When Deadlock grabbed it, Megatron didn’t immediately relinquish it.

“I expect you to learn something from this experience,” Megatron said. He sounded calm, a staggering contrast to the fury with which he would berate Starscream, but Deadlock would have found the latter easier to handle. Anger was an emotion he knew well; he’d never before had anyone to disappoint. “You have a lot of potential, Deadlock. But you’ll have to work to see it realized. Don’t squander it.” 

Deadlock’s intake felt dry. “I’ll kill Hot Rod, if that’s what you want. He got lucky this time. Next time he won’t.” 

That managed to get a smile out of Megatron, however slight it may have been. He let go of the gun and gave Deadlock an affirming pat on the shoulder.

“You’ll have plenty of opportunities, I’m sure. He’s smart, but he’s not a warrior like you are. Use that inexperience to your advantage.”

Megatron sighed. It aged him, more so than even the stubborn furrow of his brow. “A shame to see him go to waste. Too many good men have allowed themselves to become a lap dog for the Senate.”

Hot Rod’s fiery gaze had taken what seemed like a permanent residence in Deadlock’s mind. The thought of seeing that flame snuffed beneath the heel of the same Prime who had laid siege to Nyon made his trigger finger twitch. 

“Yes,” Megatron mused. “He would have made a fine Decepticon.”

**______________________________**

The barracks were never quiet, and for once Deadlock welcomed the distraction. 

Ramjet’s restless tossing and turning and Astrotrain’s snoring, the kind that could raise the dead, kept his mind from lingering too long on his conversation with Megatron. 

How much potential could he afford to ‘squander’ before he’d fall out of Megatron’s favor? He’d rarely had the privilege of having a guiding figure in life. The loss of Gasket had led him to Megatron, but where could he go from here?

There was a ping accompanied by a notification on his HUD. A curt message from Starscream, inviting Deadlock to his private quarters.

Deadlock sat up. Astrotrain continued to snore and weather away what remained of Ramjet’s sanity. 

Starscream was insufferable, but Deadlock wouldn’t turn down the chance to get a reprieve from his thoughts; not when Megatron loomed and Hot Rod beckoned to him with optics as fierce as they were innocent.


End file.
